Chain of My Morality
by Son Rhandi
Summary: Goes into the relationship between Kevin and Croe a bit. Short, but good.


**Disclaimer: **In a perfect world, I would own the rights to the Kin Nisei series and be of Japanese descent. But alas, it is not a perfect world. I own nothing.

**Notes:** I think this comes out of reading The Great NeoDragon's "The Price of Honor" more than anything else, so enjoy this bit of Kevin Mask goodness. It's better than the last two, I think. 

****

Chain of My Morality

**By Son Rhandi**

"As thinking men, we are born with invisible crowns around our heads. We grow and realize who our parents are, and a base plate is added to the front of the crown. When name recognition comes in, the first link is attached to the base. From then on, for each new thing we learn and every belief we gain, a link is added to form our personal 'chain of thinking'. Negative thinking will lead to a heavier chain. It weight will make your neck hurt and you'll walk around with your head down low."

"That's good to know. I'll remember that the next time I walk hunched over. Nice story."

"I didn't tell you all that because it was a nice story. You missed the point entirely."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is," Croe raised a finger. "Negative thoughts will overwhelm you if you aren't careful, so try not brood so much."

"Easier said than done, mate," said Kevin Mask at the window sill, keeping his sights fixated on its outside. "Lots of things are going on, so who wouldn't brood about them?"

"Are you worried about the competition?" His coach inquired.

The younger man scoffed. "Hardly. The only one I need to keep an eye on is that oaf, Mantaro, and his bloody power of Ultimate Muscle." Kevin clinched his fists. "When it all comes down to it, beating him is all I care about…"

"And so you should. His father **did** beat yours in this tournament, you know."

Kevin turned to him, his eyes narrowed. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not doing this to restore his honor. As long as we share the same name, I won't let it be second to anyone else's."

"Hm." He didn't seem too surprised by Kevin's response. He settled back against the cushions. "Then you should rest up for tomorrow. The match-ups will be decided then."

"Right. Are you coming along?"

Croe waved his hand, a negative indicator. "You're the one who needs rest, not me. I'll be along eventually."

"Alright, then. Good night, Croe."

Kevin went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Truthfully, he wasn't tired in the least. He plopped down on his bed--the had rented a double-- and sighed. The start of the Chôjin Olympics would take place tomorrow. It was really thanks to Croe's help that he even made it as a finalist, much less showed up. He met the man in his personal gym back home in London. Actually, Croe just appeared in the doorway one rainy day with only a dirty, tattered cloak to keep him warm. The man spoke of the Chôjin Olympics, it being the place where real wrestlers show their strength, not in musty, old gyms. He then went on to offer his services as a coach. At first, Kevin was put off by all his talk, but his eyes didn't lie, those fiery eyes that could piece his very soul…

Croe taught him many things in the short time they knew one another, roughly three months. The new attacks were impressive, sure, but it was his manner of teaching that left more of a mark on him than anything else. The man's methods were different than what he was used to, namely the lifetime of harsh regimens under his sire, Robin Mask. He took Kevin's feelings into consideration, cared about his thoughts, his well being, rather than just trying to carve him into being the ultimate wrestling machine, the desirable end product. With Croe, it was different. Their was a certain degree of emotional attachment, he'd admit, but he by no means felt obligated to stay by his side. If he chose to up and leave, fine. If Croe chose to follow, well, that was fine, too. The world was still his playground, in a sense, and coach Croe was welcome to hop in and join the fun any time.

Kevin opened his door a crack, peering into the living room to check on his companion, a thing that had been developing into a habit recently. The older man just sat their on the couch, ever quiet, polishing Kevin's armor with visible care. Even from that distance, he could see Croe's eyes roll from one imperfection to the next as he ran the chamois around his chest plate, buffing out the numerous, little dings and bringing out a clean, soft shine. It was the first time he'd done such a thing. Usually, when the day's training was done, he'd through his armor into one corner or the next and that would be that until the next day, when the same routine was followed. And yet, here was Croe, waxing away the result of his carelessness… 

It dawned on Kevin that his victory in the Chôjin Olympics wasn't important to just him. Croe had spent all that time preparing him for it. It would be his victory, too. With that in mind, winning out over Kinniku Mantaro was just a ripple in the pool of greater things. Kevin once again closed his door and shifted to lean against it. He wasn't exactly comfortable with this new responsibility. The young Englishman rubbed the back of his neck and allowed himself a small chuckle. It began to feel a bit sore. "So then, Croe, I'll try not to brood so much."

So it goes. Good night, Kevin Mask. Fight hard and remember to keep your chain light.

  



End file.
